Prompt: Rory Pond, Clint Barton, wounded
by PlayPrayDie
Summary: There was something about this guy. He wasn't exactly lying, more like just not bothering to tell the truth. Clint just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that he was glossing over.


He was _so_ glad he'd run out of arrows.

Clint had been just about three seconds away from trying to garotte the man who'd vaulted over the car using the string of his bow before he realized that the brunette _wasn't_, in fact, one of the Chitauri. Just a civilian looking for cover.

And much as Clint wanted to argue otherwise, to deny it would have been lying to himself. If he'd still had a full quiver at his back, reactionary instinct alone would have had him putting an arrow through the poor guy.

"Hey!" he cried out- and the man looked up, a moment of surprise flashing across his face. Clint didn't miss the way he'd shifted slightly- just enough to turn his shoulder towards the unexpected person sharing cover with him. The more _generous_ part of Clint was relieved that this civilian, at least, might live because he was trained to fight. The more _wary_ side of him immediately started questioning whether or not he could be trusted. Shaking that off, he gestured back down the road with one hand, grimacing at the movement. If they all lived through this, then when the adrenaline wore off, the deep scratches just past his elbow were going to be _dreadful._ "Where did you come from? Everyone's getting evacuated-"

And the strange thing was, the man was staring at him with his mouth gaping open- and for a moment, Clint almost wondered if it was because of his strange getup, bow and quiver and harness- before he seemed to snap out of it at the sight of blood.

"Are- are you alright?" he leaned over, studying his wounds. Clint was about to wave him off before a quiet- "_Oh, you've got to be kidding me._" reached his ears.

"What?" he didn't like the sound of the dread in those words.

"Nothing, just-" and the man chanced a glance over his shoulder, back out into the frey- it had moved away for a moment, the Chitauri's attention drawn elsewhere- before turning back to him determinedly. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment before drawing out-

A card?

"My name's Rory, yeah?" he mumbled, thrusting it out to Clint- and after a quick glance at the ID it was fairly obvious why _Rory_ was showing it to him. He was a nurse- ah, from England? So that was where the accent was from. "Rory- Williams." he stumbled over the word, but managed to catch himself fast enough to add- "Sorry. Can I take a look?"

The guy had a variety of scratches and tears across his clothes as well, and not a little amount of blood, so Clint couldn't help but worry. To him, every one of his injuries had registered as minor. What could have caught the nurse's eye, that he'd get so pale like that?

He hesitated. He didn't want to risk it- not in the midst of battle, not when there could be an enemy around every corner- but-

He lifted his hand to his mic, addressing the team at large-

"Everything's gone cold down here. Got a nurse asking to play field medic, here- anyone copy?"

"_Copy that._" came Steve's voice over the line. "_What's your condition?_"

He hesitated. He wanted to say _fine_, but the look Rory was giving him-

He pulled the hand away for a second and asked, "Is there any particular reason why you're so eager to treat me?"

The nurse bit his lip. He looked extremely uncomfortable.

"A few of the barbs- I mean-" he stopped, but then- "They were using these weapons- that look like slingshots with little barbs, and leave a scratch like that." he faintly gestured to a faint pair of scratches on Clint's wrist. "I- there's some kind of organic poison, I think. Some of the people we were trying to evacuate- they got... sick. Really sick. I was coming back to see if-" he gestured back over his shoulder hopelessly, scanning the perimeter to make sure no enemies were about to jump out at them. Clint glanced back as well, but it seemed like at the moment they were in the clear.

"Yeah?" he prompted, beginning to worry about the '_little scratch_' for the first time.

"-I mean when human beings fight, if you're using a chemical weapon or a poison or something, you carry the antidote in case you accidentally infect yourself, right?" and just when Clint had drawn back in surprise and realized the truth to his words-

"_Hawkeye? Condition?_"

"Ah-" he lifted his hand back to the headset. "Careful Captain, sounds like there's some kind of poison in use on the field." he glanced back at Rory, one eyebrow raised. "Smart thinking, realizing they'd have the antidote. And really stupid to go back for it. You're just a civillian."

"Who's _just_ an _anything_, in this mess?" for just a split second, his eyes looked- too tired. They looked like-

Like Natasha, after a particularly bad flashback.

But he dragged himself out of it almost too fast for Clint to register what had really happened, and a moment later he was fumbling with his bag. He pulled out something that looked a bit like a gun and a bit like a syringe at the same time- an alien injector, he wondered? Instead of bullets, there were tiny, pill-sized cartriges of violet liquid.

"Already tested it for human use." he mumbled. "Got infected myself, when I grabbed 'em." and sure enough, when he twisted his wrist around, Clint could see the two little pin pricks- not scratches, just pricks, like he'd been reaching past one of the weapons to try and get to the antidote and twisted his hand the wrong way- a slight grimace, another glance over his shoulder, and then- "Antidote doesn't even hurt, though. Really."

"Liar." Clint muttered, but he was pulling off his glove so that the nurse would have better access to the wound. "Do it."

Rory met his eyes for a moment before pressing the injector up against his arm and pulling the trigger. There was a noise like a discharge of steam, and then-

The next thing Clint knew, the world was spinning, and he was throwing up into the trampled flowerbed beside a building, and there was a hand on his back.

"It's okay, it's going to be okay, you'll be fine-" Soothing gibberish, but he focused on it. People were screaming into his ear, sounds of battle far closer than he would have liked-

"...how... long?" he gasped out. "How long was- I- out?"

"Only about two minutes." was the reply in that lilting sort of british accent. Then- "It passes pretty quickly." he hesitated, and then- "Sorry, I didn't want to leave while you were still out of it, but I need to get back to the others. There's half a dozen of them that need the antidote as well."

"Thanks for that." Clint groaned, but true enough, he was already starting to feel more steady on his feet. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, get going. And watch your back."

"Thanks. You too." he nodded, keeping his hand on Clint's shoulder for a hesitant minute more before darting away- weaving back through the cars, heading for the external perimeter where there were undoubtedly more civilians waiting.

When the battle resumed a moment later, Clint was already back on his feet and feeling fine, collecting his lost arrows as he weaved the other direction through the urban jungle, leading the fighting away from the direction that one brave nurse who had risked his life to save a handful of others had taken the antidote.

When he'd noticed one of the Chitauri wielding something that looked like 'a slingshot with little barbs', he'd killed it quickly and rifled through its weapons until he found a piece of alien tech that looked a bit like a gun and a bit like an injector, and grabbed the whole pack of cartriges of purple liquid.

It turned out that he'd probably saved Thor and his friend Selvig, as well, when the Azgardian complained that he was having a hard time standing and the old professor wound up staring up at Clint with a bleary sort of gaze that had nothing to do with the mind control.

The next day, after the battle was over and everyone was giving their debriefing, Clint mentioned the young nurse Williams with a halfhearted hope that SHIELD would track him down again so he could be properly thanked for his heroism. Even suggested a commendation which the Captain had backed him on, citing the reports of at least sixty people that would have been dead among the civilian evacuees without that antidote.

Clint had to admit, he'd sort of hoped that SHIELD would take on Rory Williams- if not _them_, then at least open the table for Tony to hire him on as the personal medical expert of the Avengers. Clint had always been a bit uncomfortable in hospitals and their staff, but he could definitely imagine getting treated by Rory again. It would have made getting patched up after the fact more bearable.

Fury had agreed to look into it. And then he'd looked into it.

And looked.

And looked.

And finally informed them that in light of the circumstances, the commendation would be awarded _in absentia _to the British citizen known as Rory Williams-nee-Pond.

(_Ah_, Clint had thought to himself, _So that was why he stumbled over his own name. Recently married- took on his wife's last name._)

He wanted to ask why it had to be _in absentia_. Fury told him it was over his clearance level.

He'd asked again, off the record. Fury had admitted it was over his clearance level.

Clint had walked away, and _grinned_ to himself, because there was only one thing _that _could mean. He hadn't ignored all the little signs. All the little hints. No, he'd _paid attention_ to Rory Williams-nee-Pond, and he'd pieced together all the clues.

And from that day on, he made sure that whenever Tony was boasting over the story of their battle in Manhattan, Clint insisted that the billionare include the part where he'd personally gotten medical treatment from James Bond.


End file.
